Thief
by KaibaCopter
Summary: My first thiefshipping fanfic. Takes place during Battle City on Kaiba's blimp. Bakura wants the Millennium Rod. Marik doesn't trust Bakura. A shadow game is imminent, but who will be the winner and exactly what is at stake?


**| Thief | I**

A dim strand of moonlight shined through the small circular window. A storm was brewing, thunder rumbled in the dark clouds which gathered above the blimp. A pair of lavender eyes looked out into the bleak sky, stewing in quiet reflection. Marik had never been one to brood, necessarily, but with all that was occurring, he had to plan carefully his each and every move. One slip and his entire plan would fall to pieces. So far, everyone still assumed Rishid was him, and while he knew this masquerade couldn't last forever, he planned to draw out as long as he could. Everything was working out exactly as he planned. He'd even foreseen Ishizu's attempts to foil his plans. Not that really mattered, as he would defeat her too if she got in the way of his face-off with the Pharaoh. The only thing he hadn't predicted was _him_...

Marik turned away from the window, a scowl settling upon his face. He knew very little about his "ally", if one could call him that, and being kept in the dark bothered Marik. He didn't enjoy not being in control of every aspect of this tournament. While it was true that Seto Kaiba was the host of the tournament, Marik was the one who was really in charge. He had everyone on board wrapped around his finger. Everyone but _him_.  
He couldn't use the Millennium Rod on him, he already knew it wouldn't work as long as Bakura had his Millennium Ring. He couldn't manipulate him with his words, either, because whatever he did, Bakura was always one step ahead. And that was a problem.

All Marik really knew about the owner of the Millennium Ring was that, in some way, they were alike in their goals toward the Pharaoh. And while Marik didn't quite understand Bakura's motivations, he was sure they weren't nearly as good as his. That was one of the biggest things Marik didn't like about him. What reason could Bakura possibly have to hate the Pharaoh? The question had nagged at Marik since their first meeting.

"Well, if he thinks he's getting the power of the Pharaoh, he's quite mistaken!" Marik hissed, clutching his Millennium Rod tighter in his hand. He'd come too far, worked for too long, to lose it all to some insignificant fool! Marik shook the frustrating thoughts from his head and glanced out the window again. His mind returned to his scheming, and he began to contemplate putting the Winged Dragon of Ra-or at least a copy-in Rishid's deck. Perhaps if anyone became suspicious of his identity, having a duplicate of Ra would silence any doubts so that Rishid could prolong their little charade. A familiar unpleasant voice broke him from his thoughts mere moments later.

"I see you're still awake. Good. I've been meaning to speak to you."

Marik's violet eyes flitted up to meet Bakura's cold umber gaze. A wave of contempt and aggression passed between the two in the moment they locked eyes. It was brief, but left the both of them already feeling irritated by the other's presence. Marik motioned for him to sit down, glancing down at Bakura's Millennium Ring. If his Millennium Rod had the ability to control one's mind, he could only imagine what powers the Ring around Bakura's neck held. As he looked back up to meet the other's eyes again, he noticed for one brief second that Bakura had been eyeing his Millennium Rod just as he'd been looking at the Ring.

"What brings you to my room in the middle of the night, Bakura?" The name came out like venom on Marik's lips, his voice full of mocking as he added, "Don't tell me you're afraid of a little storm."

"Hardly," Bakura sneered, his ever-present confident smirk nearly driving Marik to murder. And they say Kaiba has the biggest ego, Marik thought bitterly as his hand held slightly tighter around his Millennium Rod. There was something about the darkness in his eyes, or maybe in the way he moved about like some kind of ghoul, that Marik didn't like and certainly didn't trust. Bakura felt like the type who could rob you blind just by looking at you. And if that was the case, Marik would just have to keep a more watchful eye on his Millennium item.

"I merely want to ask you a few harmless questions," Bakura continued after a pause, having expected more of a response than a little scowl. That was no fun. He was, however, amused by the tiny spark of curiosity that appeared in Marik's eyes.

"Harmless questions," Marik repeated, not fully buying the "harmless" part. Surely this was some kind of trick to steal his Winged Dragon of Ra...No, his Millennium Rod. That was what he was really after, wasn't it? He shot Bakura a knowing glance. He wouldn't play into his little game.

"What, you don't trust me?" Bakura asked, feigning offense. It took quite a bit of willpower not to laugh at the sour expression on the Egyptian's face. To the others, Marik was a figure shrouded in mystery, he was some sort of maniacal terror. To Bakura, he was hardly more than a child. Bakura had done things far more sinister than this mortal could even imagine.

"Why should I?" Marik demanded, his eyes locked on Bakura's, which were in turn on his Millennium Rod. Marik held the Rod a little closer to his body, growing irritated with Bakura's obvious interest in it.

"Do I scare you, Marik?" Bakura grinned, noting how closely Marik was holding the Rod. He longed desperately to just reach out and pry the Millennium item out of his hand, but his common sense forced him to resist the urge. He knew the time would come soon enough.


End file.
